


Variations

by doylesmom



Series: Dancing Through Life [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claudeleth week 2020, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Post Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylesmom/pseuds/doylesmom
Summary: A miracle, this woman. In so many ways. More ways than there were stars in the skies, if he had to guess.OrThe first dance, again
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Dancing Through Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841665
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96
Collections: Claudeleth Week 2020





	Variations

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAA IT’S HERE!! This is PART TWO (please read [part one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426006) first, it’s fabulous and written by my incredibly talented friend [Anna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajesticAnna/pseuds/MajesticAnna)) of a series for day 3 of Claudeleth week, with the theme of dancing/royals! 
> 
> Extra special shoutout to [Tish](https://twitter.com/tishtish4) for making [art](https://twitter.com/tishtish4/status/1285635658149584896?s=20) for part one!! Definitely take a look, read part one, and then enjoy part two! And as always- thank you Robin for putting up with my writing madness.

Claude believes that he will never tire of the newfound expressiveness of Byleth’s face. 

It’s a strange thing, to see his teacher, friend, lover, so openly curious as she gazes about the throne room. She is resplendent in her gown, looking every inch the queen she now is.

Well, he mused as he watched her brow scrunch in confusion at the spread of cutlery before her, perhaps not entirely. It was a comfort, really, that Byleth was still so…

Byleth.

He wishes he could come up with a better descriptor than that. He’s always been an eloquent man- his very survival has depended on it before- but every time he is face to face with the mint haired beauty he finds that words simply escape him. The best he can conjure is honesty, not poetry, but she seems to prefer that, he thinks.

A miracle, this woman. In so many ways. More ways than there were stars in the skies, if he had to guess.

“You’re staring, Khalid.” 

His mother is much less amused by his obvious etiquette breach. Her green eyes- an almost perfect match to his own- stare him down until he begins to squirm under her gaze.

He had spent years battling imperial armies, mythical beings, and a reincarnated… whatever the hell Nemesis was, and yet a disapproving look from his mother is still enough to make him shake in his boots.

Some King he is.

“Sorry, mom,” he murmurs, doing his best to smile at her despite the embarrassment. No doubt others had noticed his staring, plans and schemes already swirling in their courtly minds as they attempted to parse out why the Almyran King is so focused on the Fodlani Queen. On his new ally, who he had raced into battle for, despite generations of war and skirmishes and border tensions.

“Really, Khalid, this is getting ridiculous.” His mother sighs, though as he turns his gaze to her he could almost swear he sees the hint of a smile at her lips. “Just go ask her to dance already.”

He feels a little silly, as though he had just been excused from the table to go play with the other children, but he has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he is not about to start now. He stands from his seat at the head of the table, and the orchestra begins to play. Nobles, generals, merchants, and allies of all kinds turn their faces from their dishes and each other as they watch him carefully. They whisper to each other.

It is time for him to choose his first dance partner of the evening.

He is, of course, expected to dance with as many as possible over the course of the evening. A show of solidarity, of favor, of courtly nonsense. But the first dance is one of high honor.

He knows who the favorites are, in the betting pools. Nader’s daughter, a strong general in her own right. A distant cousin who secured an immeasurably profitable trade deal with the royal family of Morfis. The youngest daughter of the Master of Wyverns, who has just become of marrying age, and is considered to be a great beauty. 

But Claude does not look at any of them. Does not let his gaze waver, his stride falter, as he makes his way down the table to stop next to the very woman he has been staring at all night.

“Queen Byleth Eisner of Fodlan,” he says, his voice soft but carrying beneath the swell of stringed instruments, “Would you dance with me?”

He holds out his hand for her.

The room falls to a hush.

Byleth smiles at him, soft and slow, and Claude feels the world fade away for a moment as she places her own callused hand in his. He helps her to her feet, and together they make their way to the dance floor.

His mother had insisted that the ball be held in the westernmost ballroom, and Claude understands her reasonings now. The sun is setting through the windows, and as they take their starting positions on the polished wood floor he finds that in the golden light of sunset, Byleth is radiant and glowing in a way he has never seen before. 

She has always been luminous, his beloved Fell Star, but today she shines like a polished gem in a chest of gold.

“You look lovely, darling,” he says to her as they begin their dance. She is light and quick on her feet- a life of sword training will do that- but she is confident, sure of herself. “Have you been taking dance lessons?”

She glances up at him with a teasing look. 

“Your mother insisted,” she tells him. He spins her out and back in, pulling her perhaps a bit closer than was proper for a pair of unwed royals, but he’d missed the feeling of her next to him, in sight and in arm’s reach.

“Am I to assume she had a hand in your attire for the evening as well?” he asks lightheartedly. Byleth glances down at her gown of black and gold, and then to him and his own black and gold ensemble, and smiles wryly. 

“I wanted to wear blue and white,” she says, eyes dancing in time with the music. “The colors of the church, you know? Fodlan doesn’t have its own colors yet. But your mother insisted I use one of her old gowns. I can see why, now.”

Claude barely restrains himself from… well, he’s not sure if it’s a laugh or a sigh, but he reminds himself to send his mother a thank you gift later. Perhaps a new wyvern broodmare, or a custom sword. Certainly he can imagine the picture they make as they sweep through the sunlit room, elegant and beautiful and proud in the colors of Almyran royalty. 

“Certainly it’s once again drawing the attention of others,” e tells her. “You remember the White Heron ball?”

“All too well,” Byleth acknowledges. “Though I didn’t quite understand what you meant at the time.”

“Ah, but you do now! And once again, I find myself faced with the possibility of having to fight away suitors with a stick.” He beams at her as dazzlingly as he knows how. She squeezes his arm, and it steadies him for a moment, pulling him from memories of a cold night, of a stone tower.

“I thought you looked like a King that night,” she murmurs to him, squeezing his arm once more. “I’m glad to know how right I was. I’m glad we have a chance to dance together again.”

He feels her love in that squeeze. 

It makes him brave.

“You know, darling,” he says as he twirls her softly once more, the music swelling about them, “I believe that black and gold would make wonderful colors for Fodlan.”

It takes a beat, but she realizes what he is saying and her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. 

“King Khalid,” she murmurs into his ear, leaning far more into him than could ever be deemed decent, “Are you suggesting a unification of our lands?”

“Well, the details would have to be worked out still,” he says, suddenly feeling near sheepish beneath the calm blue gaze of his love, “But considering you are Queen, and I am King, and you’ve already said yes to my hand in marriage…”

He trails off, winking cheekily at her. Byleth snorts, then laughs. It’s a dazzling sound, clear and bright and joyous and he trips-  _ he trips _ \- as he watches her head tip back and her eyes squeeze shut. The sound rings in his ears and demands his attention, singing its way through his blood and burning its memory in every nook and cranny of his mind. 

She is, truly, a goddess reborn, and he is but her humble servant. 

“Well,” Byleth says finally, blinking away tears of mirth from her eyes, “I believe that this would be in the best interest of both parties. After all, I have no next of kin to pass my new throne to. So we’ll just have to marry and unify, then.”

She smiles at him again, but this time it is bold and proud and so filled with love that he can taste it on his tongue. 

Claude kisses her then, warm and lovely and joyous. He hears the gasps and scandalized whispers in the background but he really doesn’t care. 

He dances with nobody else that night. 

Neither does she. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on 


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